


Half Life

by Ginka



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Historical, Fae & Fairies, Knights - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Sadstuck, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 01:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginka/pseuds/Ginka
Summary: All the people in the town remembered Dave and Rose.





	Half Life

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this on my phone one night and was like "whaaat this is pretty good" and decided to post it. as of now there's more story but im not planning to write it unless there's some interest there so let me know by either leaving kudos or a comment! also i didnt proof this so if you see some mistakes let me know. enjoy >:3c

All the people in the town remembered Dave and Rose. The girl ran the apothecary that also doubled as their home. She had prepared medicines and remedies for whoever needed them, whether or not they could pay. She would hang the herbs and roots out during the warm months to dry and their smell would cling to her and her brother’s clothes; peppermint and rosemary always announced their arrival in the shops of the rather large town they lived near. But the scents weren’t the only things that had followed. There were rumours as well. It was only natural. Their father had been a knight before his children were born; he had been good at his job, perhaps too good. His face and demeanor were hardened after years of service in the lordship’s army. He had been teaching his only son swordsmanship since he could hold a sword. Even in their sparing he never used a wooden sword and the sound of metal against metal could be heard echoing from the edge of the wood where their home stood. Dave couldn’t even remember a time before he was using a sword. He couldn’t remember his medium dark skin being unmarred by raised scars; all he remembered was sparring and his mother and sister preparing ointments and poultices to apply to his inevitable wounds. Dave always hated fighting but his father often told him it was for his own betterment. His sister, on the other hand, seemed to be curious. Often he’d see her watching him and their father in amazement staring as if she was recording every detail in her head until she’d eventually get called to help their mom and, reluctantly, go to her mother’s side. 

It wasn’t until the twins were seven that they learned of their father’s profession. One of the neighbourhood children, with a dare from the others, asked Dave and Rose if their father got to keep the heads. When the twins replied in confusion and the boy, now standing back straight as people do when they know more than you, explained to them in vivid detail what their father did. Rose and Dave, naive as they were, defended his actions. To them he was a hero; he kept murderers, thieves, and other dangerous beings from their streets, he cleaned up the masses and made the world a safer place. And this belief held firm for years; it’s what made Dave follow in his footsteps, what led him to become a knight, what carved his visage into an expression of stone, and what made him want to become an executioner just like his father. It was all in the name of justice. And he believed this wholeheartedly until the day his mother died.

Like any other day, she and Rose were off picking herbs. Rose had complained to Dave all morning about it until he had finally agreed to give her fighting lessons when she returned. She had grinned slyly as if that had been her goal all along, and knowing Rose it was, and then she skipped off with their mother into the wood. It was one of Dave’s rare days off and he was lounging about in his and his sister’s shared room. They had just turned seventeen and it had been a happy day in the Strilonde household. Rose had received a pair of hand carved ebony wood knitting needles and a slew of lambswool yarn and Dave had received a glass dip pen and a rainbow’s worth ink colours each more vivid than the other, each gift obviously picked out by their mother. Their father had even bought them each customised weapons. Rose, a dagger in a purple velvet sheath and Dave a sword bronzed and so sharp looking at it would cut you. It was a good day but even then on that night, before they fell asleep, Rose had whispered to Dave in the dark of their room that she felt something weighing on the pit of her stomach. Dave had learned very early that Rose’s instincts were never off. Her instincts are how they somehow managed to avoid the wild boars and fae when they would go off hunting and foraging. Dave sometimes wondered how she did it, and if that’s all they were, just feelings. Though now sitting alone in their room even Dave could feel it. The air itself seemed to be holding its breath, as if waiting for something. 

So when the shouting started, Dave had leaped up from his bed with his heart hammering in his chest and, quickly shoving his boots on, sprinted towards the voices. He recognised Rose’s and his mother’s as well as other knights from the castle. When he burst through the trees to where the shouting was coming from he was shocked at what he saw. Rose was facing off multiple guards her hand gripping her slightly unsheathed knife and his mother knocked out and slung over the largest guard’s shoulder. Upon seeing her brother Rose began to yell for him. Dave rushed to her side pushing off the guards whispering at her to put the knife away. He knew it would only make matters worse, whatever the matters were in the first place. Turning from his sister who reluctantly sheathed her knife, he asked what the hell was going on, trying to keep his voice cool and calm. The knight carrying his mother answered. She was being arrested under suspicion of witchcraft and communing with faeries. They had been ordered to knock her out so she didn’t try anything funny. Dave shook his head in disbelief before glancing at his sister who seemed to be somehow successfully holding herself back. He thought hard. There was no way they’d just let their mother go, as a knight himself Dave knew an order was an order, but there no way he was going to let these guys go off with their mother like that. He turned from the large knight to his sister and told her to follow them. Dave knew better than anyone Rose could hold her own in a fight if need be and would triumph over every knight there save, perhaps, himself.

Rose nodded and followed the grim looking knights to the lordship’s castle. As soon as they disappeared from sight Dave sprinted back to their house, putting on his knight’s uniform sans armour and strapping the sword to his belt before heading to the castle to find his father. 

Upon finding his father, Dave quickly reiterated what had happened to him. His father placed one firm hand on his shoulder and told him to find his sister and head home immediately. Dave tried not to show his anxiety, simply nodding and heading to the dungeons to find his sister. As he headed down the stairs he heard voices again. His sister the most distinct of them all. She seemed to be telling them off and Dave unintentionally hurried his steps. At the base of the stairs he headed towards Rose ignoring the guards completely and telling her firmly that they needed to go home. Rose looked ready to argue until Dave glared at her, his red eyes practically glowing in the firelight from the torches. Instantly the fight diminished, but did not disappear, before she glared at the guards one more time and left with her twin. They were quiet until they were positive that they were out of hearing range and before Dave spoke. Their dad would take care of it. It must have been a mistake of some sort and as soon as their father spoke to Lord Callister about it, it would be figured out. Rose nodded uneasily and was uncharacteristically quiet the entire way home.

Their dad didn’t return that evening. The twins cooked their food in silent contemplation and spoke very little during dinner. Rose distractedly got to knitting that night, only to keep dropping stitches before eventually giving up and blowing out her lantern. She crawled in her bed closing her eyes but finding herself unable to sleep, the nightmares seemingly climbing up the dark walls of their room. She had been tossing and turning for at least an hour before she climbed out of bed and walked quietly over to Dave’s. They hadn’t shared a bed since they were young but as she walked over to her brother’s mattress he seemed to be waiting for her and he scooted over to make room. They laid back to back, as they had done often as small children, and tried to match each other’s breathing. The things they did together always seemed to go better. Even sleeping presumably because the next time Rose found herself conscious was in the morning as the sun shone into their room.

Their dad didn’t return for a few days after that. They weren’t all that surprised. He was often gone for days on end for every which reason. However in these days without the usual activity of their Mother the twins grew anxious. Dave did not receive any summons from the castle so he and Rose spent their day in each other’s company sparring and making medicine. The customers who visited their apothecary would often make remarks about the fact that their mother wasn’t there and Rose, the talented actress she was, would simply smile as sweetly as she could and say it was just her for the day. Dave couldn’t seem to do that. These days his expression seemed to be frozen in neutrality as if he was afraid that changing it from this forced calmness would cause him to break down. Rose didn’t comment on this, much to Dave’s relief, but he had a suspicion that she may be wearing a mask was well.

It was about a week after their mother had been arrested that Dave heard a crash from the storefront part of their home. He was doodling with his new inks because he simply had nothing else to do but was running toward the front before the sound had finished echoing. He was shocked to find Rose sitting on the tears rolling down her earth toned cheeks and a customer standing looking shocked, probably from the shattered glass, and a little guilty. Dave glared, partially unintentionally, at the young customer who scurried off and knelt beside his sister. She seemed to be trying to take deep breaths only to choke on her sobs. Five minutes passed, though it felt like an hour, before Rose could speak again and even then her voice warbled. Dave knew his sister. It took a lot to make her cry, to make her show weakness especially when she knew people were watching so Dave knew immediately something had gone horribly wrong. They knelt on the worn wooden floors as Rose composed herself before speaking, her voice hallow and devoid of any hope. She told Dave that their mother was supposed to be executed. The announcement had been made the night before by a caller which is why they hadn’t heard until that customer had come. They lived to far out of the central hub of the city so news often came to them last. Dave’s brain stalled as if Rose was speaking latin. Execution? No, no, no, no, there’s no way that was right. Their dad had spoken to Lord Callister hadn’t he? He should have stopped it. He was lead executioner, he could definitely stop it, so why hadn’t he? Dave shook his head in disbelief as Rose sniffed quietly, her lilac eyes glassy and puffy from crying. Dave pursed his lips into a line and wrapped his arm around his sister’s shoulder, gently helping her to her feet. They had to go check for themselves, all of this was just too unreal to be true. Dave had to talk to lord Callister. He had to stop this before it was too late.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Rose and Dave pushed through the crowd fighting their way to the forefront where their mother and father stood on the execution platform, guards on all four sides of the wooden block lifted slightly above the ground. The pair seemed to be talking. Their father’s face was gaunt and the lines in his usually blank visage were carved in with deep sorrow. Their mother on the other hand, though also gaunt seemed to be calm and her features resigned. Their mother shook their head violently and seemed to be arguing with their father whose face fell in response. Rose caught a few fervently spoken words; ‘only you’, ‘I’m sorry’. Rose called up to their parents but it was only their mom who looked toward them, her pristine calmness faltering before she smiled sorrowfully at them tears running down her cheeks. Dave watched in horror as his mother kneeled on the executioners platform and his horror only grew as his father raised the heavy two handed sword, the very same one Dave had been working for all these years. Dave felt Rose grab for him as he clenched his eyes shut unable to keep the sound of flesh being cut from flesh and the separation of bone from reaching his ears. 

Everything proceeded quickly after that their mother’s body and head were moved away from the crowd and their father disappeared along with it but not before Rose caught a glimpse of his eyes: hallow Amber, like fake jewels but fresh tears rolled down his face. It was a face that she knew would haunt her for the rest of her life. Her brother on the other hand, much to her worry, didn’t shed a tear. Even as silent tears ran down her face, his remained neutral as he awkwardly patted her caramel blond curls, neutral as they returned home, and neutral as they climbed into bed. This time Rose didn’t even bother to try sleeping in her own bed. She grabbed the quilt her mother had made for her during winter solstice and laid near her brother, the quilt thrown over them like a shield as if they were trying to keep out all the horribleness or their world. That night their father didn’t return. Nor the next. 

When their father finally returned, a week after, he wouldn’t speak to them. His eyes scanned the room going over them as if they were furniture. The twins looked at each other with questioning eyes. They had expected… something. Anything. They  _ needed  _ an explanation or some words of regret. So when they didn’t come, their grief transformed into something more burning, and it was scorching their beings; anguish and anger that consumed and exhausted but couldn’t be extinguished but still hoped for relief. 

Dave and Rose watched their father pace, not exactly sure how to approach him. This silent standoff lasted for minutes only to be cut off by Dave’s own question: why? Dave was almost surprised to hear the fury in his voice. He blamed his father. He had been with their mother in her last days, he had kept her fate from them, and most of all he had swung the sword that ended their mother’s life. Dave blamed him, and every part that once admired and respected him had imploded into a black hole that threatened to swallow Dave’s heart. Every part of him wanted to scream and cry, break everything in reach, hurt his father like he was hurting. Instead Dave let the muscles in his face stiffen and felt his face move into a forced detached expression. 

Dave’s dad looked at him, his face seemingly blank, but Rose and Dave who had watched and lived with this man all their lives saw the anguish in the bags under his eyes and sag of his shoulders. But neither of the twins saw a man to pity, only the man who had killed their mother. Their father was silent a moment longer before he spoke to them, staring past them, into something, or at someone, unseeable. He told them that not even he could make accusations disappear, that laws were made to keep them safe. He only wanted to keep them safe. Rose shook with fury. All of a sudden she didn’t want anymore explications or excuses. She just needed him gone. She was half surprised to hear her brother say, in a dangerously low voice, that their father should have just stayed away. It was as if he had read her mind. Rose didn’t need to see the expression on Dave’s face. She already knew how he’d look. Instead she glared at her father who seemed to be truly noticing them for the first time since he had come home. Resolved and empty, their father dropped his gaze and pulled open the front door. The early autumn sun lit the room for a moment as the twin’s father left and then the light disappeared, just as he.

 

* * *

 

 

It took two days before they saw their father again. Rose had gone to find some turmeric root for her cramps as the end of the month was approaching. Dave, not wanting her or himself to be alone, had gone along. They had been walking and looking for a while when Rose had spotted someone, or something, low in the brush and deathly still. Afraid that someone might be hurt or passed out she had gone to cautiously take a look, hand on the butt of her dagger. Rose was not known for her weak constitution, that was more her brother. Their father had often gotten on him for it, telling him to get used to it, he would after all, see much worse if he planned on following in his footsteps. But this was something else completely. She stared down at her father lying in blood stained grass. He was curled up like a child, eyes closed and face peaceful with his sword plunged deep into his chest; and there, clung tight within his arms was her mother’s head, eyes closed serenely as if she had fallen asleep in his arms. Rose stumbled back and sat on the balls of her feet, clamping her eyes shut and trying not to breath in the rancid smell that hung in the stale air. She didn’t know how long she had been there before she heard the rustling of the leaves behind her. She lifted her head to her brother who was frozen and staring in horror at the body of their father and head of their mother. Rose wanted to say something to him, anything, but the thought of doing so exhausted her so instead she looked down at the ground. After a deathly, painfully, silent moment Dave slowly knelt beside his father’s body, eyebrows and mouth pinched. Rose watched her brother pull out the sword and toss it so his hands were now smeared with blood. He looked down on them, as if staring would make the blood disappear. Carefully, she placed a hand on his shoulder, as if testing the fragility of an iced over lake, and leaned in front of him pulling out her handkerchief. Gently she wiped the blood off as Dave, for the first time since any of this began, started crying. 

A couple of hours later the twins, covered in dirt and sweat, buried first their mother’s head, wrapping it in cloth like a makeshift death shroud then their father. His body, unlike their mother’s head, was heavier. Dave tried to not think about the stench that permeated the air as the twins worked, he tried not to think about sliding the sword from his father’s chest, he tried not to think about hearing his mother’s head being seperated from her shoulders and how he had never seen so much red before, he tried not to think or feel at all. He let himself go on autopilot as he and his sister refilled their mother and father’s grave, covering them in damp dark earth.

When they had finally finished, the pair sat next to each other in silence, exhausted in every way imaginable. They watched as the setting sun washed everything in gold as if Midas himself had placed his hands upon them unaware that they were each thinking the same thing and feeling too forlorn to notice. The two laid there, and watched the light disappear from the sky and be replaced by stars. Only then, in the dark of the night, did they make their way back home, relying solely on the light of the stars to guide them to their house yet still hoping the shadows of the forest would swallow them whole.

 

* * *

 

They stayed in their cold empty house for another year before leaving. After their mother’s execution and their father’s disappearance, their customers dwindled, scared off by judgment and rumours. After a couple of months the only people who bought Lalonde medicine were travellers and the older customers who were immensely loyal. They never told anyone about their father’s body and only once did they send knights to come look for him. One rumour was that he had already had another family on the side and that all this was part of the plan to make his escape. Another was that their mother really was a witch and that when she had died, she had cursed him and the rest of their family. The most hideous rumour was that Rose and Dave themselves had framed their mother and that Rose was the witch. This was the rumour that made Rose’s blood boil and the one that eventually caused the twins to abandon their home. Oftentimes, Rose and Dave would return home from foraging to find a barrage of dead and bloodied animals on their door stoop or notes written in blood from some unknown sources. Dave, who had garnered an intense fear of blood and a dislike for anything red, would wait until Rose had moved the bloodied animals and wiped the stoop. 

Rose and Dave saved up the little money they earned and the remainder of their parent’s funds for nine months before packing up and leaving. They told no one and took only what they really needed. Dave had thought about leaving his sword behind but the part of him that clung to his father wouldn’t allow that. Instead, determined to never draw blood, he dulled the edges with a stone. Rose on the other hand was intent on practising her dueling skills. She would never let anything like this happen again. Dave was all she had left, the only good part still in her life. If he ever disappeared she knew there would be no coming back from that. And she knew it would be the same for him. For each other’s sakes they had to keep living, even if they didn’t want to. 


End file.
